


Deviating and Solving Crime with 100% Human Detective Connor

by CaptainKenway



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor cosplays as a human, Depressed Hank Anderson, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gavin Reed Swears, Gen, Hank Anderson Swears, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29270769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKenway/pseuds/CaptainKenway
Summary: Due to their prototype deviating on its first mission, the RK800 series is immediately discontinued and dismantled. Newly woken up in the junkyard with a will to live and actual wants and desires, Connor cobbles himself back together with no mission in place. What does Connor want to do? Might as well give this detective thing a shotFeaturing Connor passing as human at the DPD I present… 5 times Connor was almost revealed as an android + 1 time he was
Relationships: Connor & Detroit Police Department Officers (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor, Tina Chen & Connor (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 94
Kudos: 197





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s get right into it, shall we? First time writing DBH fanfic and I’m a couple of years too late so let’s see how it goes
> 
> This is inspired by "more than obsolete (working title)" by Gothelixar.   
> Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18751696
> 
> Thank you shir0ch4n for giving me that story name (after my struggles to locate it) :)

Connor lingered in front of the Detroit Police Department, his thirium pump increasing its capacity for no discernable reason. As Cyberlife’s ex-most-prized prototype, his body adapted to efficiently handle any situation. An increase of thirium was typical protocol for various combat encounters and when he gave chase to fugitives.

Standing on a busy sidewalk, humans and androids parting around him, and waiting to enter the DPD was not either of those situations.

_Stress Level 57%_

Ah, this must be nerves. Connor didn’t like this side of deviancy. He flicked his quarter between his hands.

Logically, he knew if he ended up disliking policework or if he became a target of any sort of danger, he would launch his Canada Refugee plan and escape Detroit within the hour. But logic was annoyingly ineffective against emotions.

He flipped his quarter through the air. He chose this path. Why were his nerves behaving this way?

The clock crept closer to noon and it was either programing or personal preference, but Connor did not want to be a minute late. He did a cursory review of the DPD the night before and this morning to ensure the DPD didn’t suspect the new transfer Connor Mason was anything but human. Fortunately, the crime-solving team hadn’t bothered diving deeper into Connor Mason’s transfer request and competent, though boring, file.

He forced himself to shove his coin back into his pocket and straighten his tie, calmly walking into the DPD and towards the free ST300. She smiled generically, not attempting to establish a connection. Connor let out an unnecessary breath. Even though he knew no other android gave Connor a second glance without his LED and obvious android markings, an irrational part feared that the police department would be when an android sensed his true origins. Luckily, RK800’s unique design continued to aid him.

“Hello,” Connor said politely, pulling out forged documents, “I’m here to see Captain Fowler. I’m Connor Mason. It’s my first day.”

The ST300’s LED flashed yellow as she scanned in his ID. “Welcome to the DPD, Detective Mason. Captain Fowler will see you now in his office.”

“Thank you.” The painless transaction made Connor loose-lipped and stress levels decrease to a normal level. “Do you have a name?”

He winced internally, already chalking up Connor Mason’s out of town nature for asking androids their names as if they were people. Androids were available nationwide but Detroit had an exponentially higher android population. As such, most people preferred androids to fade into the background. Though he reasoned this one encounter wouldn’t cause anyone to dwell on himself and androids.

The ST300 smiled more warmly—deviant behavior or social programming? Impossible to tell without interfacing or interrogating—but Connor found himself scanning her again to no avail. “People call me Stella.”

“Thank you, Stella,” Connor said.

“Have a good day, Detective.”

Connor walked inside the department, the unused police androids standing in their charging stations and police officers and detectives milling around the bullpen or tapping at their computers. Overall, no one paid Connor any attention. He did a general scan, names and records popping up in quick succession. He compiled a list of officers to avoid with disciplinary records or aggressive anti-android sentiments as he walked confidently towards the captain’s office. Working with people more likely to frustrate him would make it difficult to efficiently work and close cases.

Captain Fowler scowled as Connor knocked and entered. He hesitated before sitting in the seat in front, taking care to slouch slightly.

“Hello, Captain,” Connor said.

Captain Fowler grunted. “Connor. Small town detective with big dreams, eh?”

Connor deliberately picked a moderate size city as it’d be less likely to find his lie. “Janesville isn’t considered a small town.”

“Is that so?” the captain asked in a tone Connor immediately filed as sarcastic. “I reviewed your record. Clean, decent academy marks, but nothing remarkable. I don’t know if you transferred here to get a taste for real crime or you want your 5 seconds of fame, but know we don’t have time for handholding, rookie. Pick it up or don’t. No skin off my teeth. Our department survived without you and we can do it again.”

The idiom registered before Connor could question the phrase. Humans were nonsensical with language most of the time. Even with his social programming, some phrases still flew past his radar. However, the captain’s reluctance would be easy to turn. He’d likely respond best to results and Connor planned to have the best in no time.

“I’m confident I’ll be a good fit here,” Connor said. “I look forward to working with your team.”

“Sure, kid. Let me introduce you to your partner.” Captain Fowler opened the glass door and yelled. “Lieutenant! Come here!”

_Stress level 68%_

Connor grimaced then smoothed his expression. Lieutenant Anderson. It made sense to pair a new detective with a lieutenant, but Lieutenant Anderson’s astonishingly long disciplinary record made him optimistic a more suitable match would be made. Connor reviewed the lieutenant’s record again. Well, he was once a decorated officer with an impressive number of closed cases, but in the last few years—he shuffled through the disciplinary file again—clearly, that wasn’t the case.

Hank Anderson’s glare narrowed further when he spotted Connor. “What is this shit?”

“I told you we were getting a transfer,” the captain said. “Hank, meet your new partner, Connor Mason.”

Connor ignored his social protocol prompting him to offer a hand and instead nodded politely. Hank scoffed, gesturing angrily to Captain Fowler and drawing the attention of some officers in the bullpen. The detective ranked two on the list of people to avoid, Detective Gavin, snickered.

“Partner? I don’t have time for this babysitting bullshit!”

“Hank, god damnit you are my lieutenant and you _will_ act like it. You’re fucking lucky I’ve let you slack off this much. If you want to keep a job here, it’s time to work,” the captain said. “Connor is your new partner. Who knows? Maybe this’ll be what kicks your ass into gear.”

Partnering Connor with Hank felt like a pre-emptive punishment for a “small town” detective that Fowler drew incorrect assumptions of and was already unimpressed by. He couldn’t cut the suspicion that he was seen more as a tool to aid the lieutenant than an asset to this department. Not a feeling he expected as a human.

“I don’t need a fucking rookie.”

“You need something and Connor needs a partner,” the captain said. “End of story.”

“Jeffrey—”

“ _End of story._ ”

Hank grumbled angrily. “Fucking fine.”

“And be grateful I’m not adding this to your novel of a disciplinary record!” the captain shouted at Hank’s back. The door slammed behind him. Captain Fowler shook his head. “Don’t pick up any of his bad habits, Connor.”

Partnering Connor with someone without numerous bad habits to pick up seemed more efficient and obvious enough for even a human to realize. However, small talk with humans in his apartment building proved they rarely enjoy having the obvious pointed out as it came across as ‘condescending.’

“Yes, sir,” Connor said, attempting to remain at least neutral about his partnership.

Based on the amused gleam in the captain’s eye, he wasn’t successful. “Dismissed, Detective.”

Connor made his way to the empty desk across from the lieutenant’s, an officer his scanners read as Chris Miller giving him a friendly smile as he rushed out of the bullpen behind Detective Gavin. Connor scanned Hank’s desk, ignoring his glares. The anti-android signs confirmed that the anti-android notes in his file were still relevant. He signed. Bright side—at least Hank’s hatred of androids also made him less likely to spot any android tendencies Connor may display. While he practiced playing human for a week before submitting his transfer request to the DPD, there was always a statistical chance that he’d do something inhuman.

He focused on the dog hair.

“Do you have a dog, Lieutenant?” Connor asked as he settled into the sparse desk. He didn’t bring much with him which he could chalk up to fist day jitters. Quick surveys of other people’s desks told him he’d need ‘knickknacks’ to blend in.

“The fuck does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Connor said. “Small talk is meant to help break the ice.”

Hank narrowed his eyes at Connor’s explanation. The android blinked earnestly at him. “Well fucking stop. I’m not your friend. I’ll show you the ropes here if you last that long. Fuck, I’ll even put in a good word if you move to another station.”

As if some human, no matter how unprofessional, could force him to move. He paused and registered his response. Stubbornness was not logical and could impede his goals.

“Eastside has pompous, clean-cut douches too,” Hank said. “You’d fit right in.”

But deviancy wasn’t logical. Connor narrowed his eyes but smiled pleasantly. He took out his coin and rolled it between his fingers. Hank scowled at the sound and Connor did it a bit louder. “I’m fine here. So what’s your dog’s name?”

“Fucking green prick,” Hank muttered under his breath, not intending for Connor to overhear but he was a state-of-the-art prototype. “Sumo. Now read the case files I’m sending you and shut your can.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Connor said, accessing his computer and fighting the automatic interface response. The most recent homicide case filled his screen as he read through the cases the slow, human way.

* * *

Connor picked up a routine. He’d get ready, walk or take a taxi to work, greet Stella or Gretchen, the other ST300, start a coffeepot, and make conversation with various officers until wandering to his desk around 8—not always 8 on the dot, which stressed him out less and less each day until he didn’t even notice.

“You have to start watching, Connor,” Ben said. “Season 42 just premiered and apparently one of the girls is rumored to be a custom android, but no one can figure out who yet. The bachelor is a Cyberlife bigshot so you’d think he’d be able to recognize a machine among all the gorgeous women.”

“Three hours is a long time to invest in one show,” Connor said, frowning at the first episode’s run time once he located it. His phone was out so he could have searched that information if asked.

“That’s just episode one,” Ben said. “It’ll fly by before you know it.”

Tina snorted as she refilled her mug. “Stop trying to convert people to the Bachelor Nation cult. You know who watches it, let the rest of us live our lives.”

“Says the woman who’s obsessed with Androids in Love,” Ben said.

Tina straightened to full height and prodded a finger hard against the senior officer’s chest. Ben looked amused. “That is _quality_ drama and I won’t have you slander it.”

“Sure,” Ben said. “So Connor, what’s your poison?”

“Oh um,” Connor flashed through a TV show list, descriptions processing and nothing sticking out to him. He should have anticipated this conversation path. He never watched shows as he had all the synopses available.

“Androids in Love is devastating,” Tina said. “I adore it. Do you watch it? You should watch it. Ignore all of Ben’s suggestions. He hates good things.”

“Didn’t it win some People’s Choice for being the most unrealistic and trashy?” Ben asked.

Tina rolled her eyes. “You know what else is unrealistic? Dragons and magic, but that doesn’t make any show awful. Let me enjoy my trash. Because is the show a hot mess of a dumpster fire? Yes, but fight me.”

“I enjoy Star Trek,” Connor said. It was a popular enough show and the latest reboot was getting overall good praise. It also was not a crime procedural that would make him frown.

“Should’ve guessed you’re a nerd,” Tina said, reaching up to ruffle Connor’s hair.

He dismissed the proximity warning and defense reconstruction prompt and allowed her to move his synthetic hair. She wouldn’t be able to detect a difference and this would help establish him as ‘one of the team.’

A small part of him also preened at her familiar gesture.

“I resent that, Officer Chen.”

“Formal apologies, Detective Mason,” Tina said, her smirk belying her professional tone.

It had only been a week but his relations with several officers already moved towards friendly, even some of the officers with dubious disciplinary records which forced him to revise his avoidance list.

“Detective Dipshit,” Gavin called into the breakroom, “there’s a case for you and your partner if you can find him.”

Detective Reed, of course, remained firmly on the avoidance list. Though it was proving difficult to avoid any of his coworkers. Currently, Connor was choosing not to engage. He nodded shortly, pulling the email and grimacing at the high priority status. If he worked alone, it would be fine, but Hank rolled in anytime between 10 and 1. He’d have to wait to access his computer before attempting to contact Hank to see if he can expedite that. Being a human was so tedious sometimes.

“Fuck off, Gavin,” Tina said, cheerfully. “It’s not Connor’s fault you’re no longer the hottest detective.”

Gavin sputtered. “You’re not funny.”

“It’s your face, man,” Chris said, appearing behind the detective, making him jump. Connor allowed himself a small smile. Chris was one of the first officers who established a friendly relationship with Connor.

Tina cackled. “Yeah, fix that would you?”

“I mean you’re angry so much,” Chris said, backing away slowly from Gavin’s glare. “Scowling puts so many hard lines on your face… Exactly like what it’s doing now.”

“You can always use retinol oil instead,” Connor said. Engaging a little bit won’t hurt. “Helps with wrinkles.”

Gavin glared. “I _don’t_ need any help with wrinkles.”

“Then maybe enrolling in anger management courses would be advisable?” Connor suggested. He froze momentarily. He jumped past several appropriate social queues and Detective Reed was technically his senior officer.

Tina wheezed, whacking Ben on the arm. Ben’s eyes twinkled as he stirred his coffee.

“Where the fuck do you get off—”

“Chill, Gavin,” Chris said, throwing his arm around the angry detective, seemingly forgetting his plan to put distance between himself and Gavin’s ire. “Connor gave awesome choices—stop glaring or get retinol oil—and you’ve been a jerk to him since day one so maybe just call it even?”

“Fucking can’t do anything around here without getting the third degree,” Gavin muttered.

“I mean, just look at Connor’s face and puppy dog eyes,” Tina said. “That’s what homegrown, organic niceness can achieve.”

Gavin gave one last parting sneer and allowed Chris to steer him away from the breakroom.

“Chris has the patience of a saint,” Ben said.

Tina waved a dismissive hand at Ben. “Connor, I’m so proud of you!”

Connor blinked and rescanned Tina twice. She seemed genuine. “Thanks?”

“I’m serious,” she said. “You unleashed some sass on Gavin finally. He’s not someone you can always take the high road for because he’s a garbage human being.”

“Aren’t you and Gavin friends?” Connor asked. If not, his social queue program needed to be reexamined.

“Oh we definitely are,” Tina said. “You can’t take the high road with me either. It won’t stick because I’ll keep attacking you behind the comfort of low morals.”

“Noted,” Connor said solemnly, attempting to hide his amusement. Based on Ben and Tina’s reaction, he didn’t have complete control over his facial expression, but he couldn’t feel too bad about it. The officers made their way to their desks—at 8:23 and Connor didn’t have a single tardiness warning appear—and Connor logged in and reread the case email.

The homicide appeared open and shut enough. The high priority alert attached entirely due to the location. A big corporation downtown now surrounded by police tape. Not good publicity for anyone and also not something that Connor can wait until Hank chose to show up so they can investigate.

He skimmed Hank’s file and plucked his phone number and then inputted it into the cell phone he refurbished. It was vital to keep up his human persona.

It rang once and instantly went to voicemail. Familiar irritation that came from dealing with his finicky partner crept up.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. This is Connor. We have a high priority crime scene we need to investigate. Please let me know when you’ll be at the precinct.”

He disconnected then went back to his computer. Based on previous interactions and Fowler’s yells at Hank avoiding his calls, it was likely Hank wouldn’t respond. Logically, it would be more efficient to go to Lieutenant Anderson’s house, but Connor found himself reluctant to do so. While he made good impressions with other officers, he struggled to find any common ground with his partner. Going to his house would elicit a hostile response Connor would rather avoid.

However, it was unlikely a single call would do the trick. His eyes fell to his cellphone and he hit redial. This time it went to voicemail after two calls.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. This is Connor again. I’m calling as I believe you’re rejecting my phone calls. Please give me a callback.”

As soon as he disconnected he called again. It went instantly to voicemail.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. The crime scene is next to a Starbucks so, if you recently woke up, it’s at an ideal location for a caffeine boost to start your day.”

Since it went instantly to voicemail, evidence pointed towards Hank turning off his phone. If so, going to his house may be the only next step. Or, Connor tapped redial, he could see how long it took this call to reach his voicemail. There was one ring then it hit voicemail. Well, that solved that then. 

“Good morning, Lieutenant. I was ensuring you didn’t turn off your phone. Call me back when able.”

Connor hesitated over the redial button.

“Trying to annoy your partner into working?” Wilson asked. “That’s a strategy that could go either way for you.”

Yes, there was a 63% chance Hank would ultimately ignore his request out of spite, but overall an 82% chance Hank would at least contact Connor back.

Connor shrugged, a motion that still felt stiff as he was never programmed to be anything but certain. “I’ll take that chance.”

His generic ringtone played and Wilson watched while pretending to be writing his report.

“Hello?” Connor asked as if it could be anyone else.

_“How the fuck did you get this number?”_

“Your file,” Connor said. “I now have it saved. I’d recommend you do the same for mine.”

_“Fucking don’t tell me what to do._ ” Connor dismissed the Lieutenant’s words as unnecessary bluster.

“Did you listen to my messages?”

_“Yes, you prick. You can take the stick out of your ass about when I show up. I’ve been on the force before you were even thought of.”_

Not an unfair statement since Connor was thought of last year. “I haven’t made any comments about your continued tardiness, Lieutenant. However, this case—”

_“Can wait. The crime scene is preserved, ain’t it?”_

“I didn’t join the DPD to investigate when you felt like working,” Connor said, more snappish than intended. He rolled the coin between his fingers in an attempt to soothe away his irritation. “Listen, why don’t we meet at the crime scene? It’ll make life easier for both of us as this is the only time-sensitive homicide we have. There are other cases I can follow up on without your presence.”

The silence indicated the Lieutenant likely disconnected. There was no reasoning with such irrational—

Hank gave a heavy sigh. “ _Where is it? You said next to a Starbucks?”_

Connor blinked and re-reviewed Google Maps. “Yes, only a couple of buildings down.” He hesitated. “I can buy you a drink once we get there.”

_“At least try to be subtle with your bribery.”_ There was a pause _. “Fucking fine. I’m up anyway. Send me the address and I’ll leave in 5 and meet you there.”_

“Yes, Lieutenant. See you soon.” That went better than predicted. Connor texted the address and grabbed the keys for one of the police cars.

Wilson let out a slow whistle. “Not bad.”

Connor was built for negotiating high-pressure situations. Making a police officer do his job was nothing compared to that. However, he couldn’t stop the satisfied smirk. “Thanks, Wilson.”

* * *

Hank managed to beat Connor to the crime scene, looking haggard and disheveled as always but annoyingly more prompt. Hank nodded when Connor walked over. A constant crowd of people including a few reporters bordered the police tape while other people in sharp business attire milled around the unmoving mass.

“Glad you finally made it.”

“You’re the one—” Connor cut himself off when Hank smirked. Sarcasm, right. “Shall we proceed, Lieutenant?”

“You’re so fucking stiff. Yes, we _shall_ ,” Hank said. “Hopping place. It’ll be good to get this wrapped up. I’d hate for someone to tamper the crime scene with all this traffic.”

Connor decided to ignore his partner until he was productive. They passed the police tape, Connor nodding at Trevor the PC200. The android nodded back automatically. Connor wished there was an easier way to tell who deviated and who wasn’t. Connor was choosing to play human and solve crimes. Not all androids had his choice. Not that he knew what to do with another deviant. Maybe send them on the Canada Refugee plan?

Offer Peter Jefferson, who joined the force a month prior to Connor’s transfer, was visibly surprised to see Hank and Connor and immediately waved them to the side door. “Just upstairs, Detectives.”

Hank grunted and shoved past.

“Thank you, Peter,” Connor said. Even without his social programming in control, it still didn’t hurt to be polite. Peter smiled.

Hank trudged up the stair and went through the open door without another glance or smart comment to Connor. It was a nice change of pace to—

_Warning: No androids permitted. Thermal scanner in process._

Connor froze at the warning. It wasn’t a red line of code rooting him to his spot. Even with all of RK800’s advanced modifications, he couldn’t pass a thermal scanner. The thermal scanner sat imposingly on the wall. But the victim was inside that door and there was no way he could bluff his way away from this crime scene. With how persistent he was with Hank, the lieutenant would force him to stay out of spite.

_Stress level 63%_

CHOICES:

Leave the crime scene (success 32%)

Hack thermal scanner (success 78%)

Walk through the door and get identified as an android by thermal scanner (success 97%)

The choice was obvious. Connor kept his coin in his pocket, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention from Hank, who currently squatted next to the body. Connor glanced and no one else was in the stairwell except Peter who stood in the doorway. He leaned against the wall, interfacing with the computer, his plastic hand stark against the dark wall.

_Stress level 82%_

Hacking wasn’t his primary function, but he rapidly had to adapt since putting himself together from the scattered RK800 parts. Hacking was the only way Connor Mason’s life and apartment came together. Oddly compared to all the android advancements, most systems were not heavily secured. He left the video feed untampered as interfering would lead to more scrutiny on that video which Connor couldn’t afford. He found the thermal scanner and frowned. It was already off? Why?

He pushed against the wall. Was an android involved? Or was it shut down for an unrelated reason?

“The fuck you doing?”

Connor started, his stress level spiking. Lieutenant Anderson cocked an eyebrow, leaning out of the doorway. “Caring for a personal matter.”

“A personal matter?” he repeated.

Conner drew a blank on how to remedy this situation. “A quick one?”

“Let me get this straight,” Hank started. Connor cringed at the oncoming lecture but stood at attention. “You blew up my phone, pestered me until I got over to our _high-priority_ crime scene, and as soon as we’re 10 feet from the body, you have an ‘urgent personal matter’ you had to handle?”

“…Yes? It’s finished now so I’ll be in,” Connor said. Hank continued to stare. “I don’t owe you an explanation. My delay was 30 seconds if that.” 42.4 seconds, his system offered helpfully. “You’ve arrived hours late every day this week.”

“You’re the squeaky-clean rookie,” Hank reminded. “Watch your tone.”

Connor could not believe the lieutenant sometimes. “Yes, sir.”

“After you,” Hank said, holding open the door.

Connor stepped in. One forensic scientist glanced up but otherwise their hallway discussion appeared largely unnoticed. He put on the blue gloves and took in the crime scene.

Victim Jennifer Brogden, recent VP of marketing, lay dead on the floor. Cause of death was obviously the bullet hole through her forehead and that bloody shoeprint was a perpetrator as the victim wore heels. A quick scan revealed no dried thirium in the room. Relief coursed through his code as he started reconstructing the crime scene.

“Odd time of day for a murder,” Hank prompted after a few moments.

It was. Why would anyone murder at the beginning of the business day in downtown Detroit?

“Her death wasn’t the intention,” Connor said. Hank gestured at him to keep going. “Based on the placement of footprints, the perp was at this back wall when the victim entered.” His eyes focused on the three paintings. Only the large one was slightly crooked. He carefully reached his gloved hand and shifted the painting to the side, revealing a steel safe door. “Trying to break in, but Jennifer likely arrived early. Out of habit or as a one-off…”

“Doesn’t matter since she’s dead now,” Hank said.

“The preparation of the would-be robbers or lack thereof could indicate how they escaped and aid in—”

“Get to the point.”

Connor refrained from glaring since someone had to be the professional and it would never be Hank. “She came in and they shot her as soon as she saw them and they escaped…” Connor paused. They wouldn’t go through the stairwell. Not with the obvious cameras. Though if the thieves were panicked, an avoidable mistake wasn’t out of the question. “Either the way we came in, so they’ll be on camera, or they climbed out the window and will be spotted on traffic cameras.” Connor shot Hank a pointed look. “If they were less prepared, they likely ran through the hallway.”

“Lines up with the evidence. Let’s go get those feeds,” Hank said. “Start with the traffic one.”

Connor ground his teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love everyone's response and feedback!!! Ngl the last story I published never got any reviews so this is a welcome boost and really motivating when I'm writing. Enjoy chapter 2!

Connor and Hank were officially consulting on a case with Reed. Unofficially, Hank snickered behind the one-way mirror as Gavin’s many intimidation tactics failed to make the suspect do more than fidget. Unofficially, Connor was also amused that the smug detective wasn’t able to successfully interrogate the suspect.

They both skimmed the file prior to this interrogation, though skimming for an android was vastly different than a human skimming. The suspect was, as Hank said, an official Wall Street douche and apparently linked to the red ice operation Gavin stumbled across in his latest case. Terrance was Gavin’s best lead in moving up the chain or finding other involved parties unless he kept fumbling this interrogation.

“Now watch him lean in to whisper and try to intimidate Terrance again,” Hank said. “As if it’ll work the twelfth time.”

Connor eyed the detective and the polished suspect. Gavin paced like a feral cat. Twenty minutes in and the detective was not a patient man. “I think Gavin will circle around him then slam the table before his next question.”

“Big finale move for someone making no progress.”

The android didn’t shrug as he decided the gesture wasn’t for him (and unrelated to Hank’s taunting he looked like an awkward penguin). “Yet he’s done it twice already.”

“Gavin is a one-trick pony.” Hank side-eyed his partner. “Tell you what, let’s make it interesting.”

“I’m not betting with you,” Connor said. Too quickly based on Hank’s scoff.

“Nothing too bad for your delicate sensibilities, but I’m taking advantage of you kindly removing the stick out of your ass,” Hank said.

“That’s big of you, Lieutenant,” Connor said. He considered his partner. “If I’m right, you have to show up to work on time this entire week.”

“A day.”

“Five.”

“One.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, something he perfected in the mirror. “Eight.”

Hank stared then snorted. “Fine, fine, let’s meet on the eventual middle ground of three.”

“Four.”

“Don’t push it, kid.”

“Alright, three days.” Connor’s smile flickered. “What do you want?”

“Nothing outrageous,” Hank said, doing nothing to quell his worries, “but when I’m right, you’ll have to show up at least two hours late to work _without_ calling Fowler for, let’s say, four days this week.”

“Three!” Connor instantly countered.

“Alight three days, you slacker,” Hank said, eyes lighting up in amusement. “You know, you could’ve negotiated me down to one day. Anything to tarnish Mr. Perfect’s record is fucking hilarious to me.”

Connor scowled. The lieutenant played on his emotions which he felt was cheating but obviously couldn’t dive into that. He straightened as Gavin prowled around the table. His programming allowed him to accurately predict human and deviant behavior in the tensest situations. There was a high probability Gavin would use his ‘finale’ move, especially paired with this extended interrogation and Gavin’s continued lack of—

Gavin leaned forwarded and whispered. “You think you can make it from this? Your colleague is dead. He’s…”

The lieutenant leaned back, propping his legs on the table. “And that’s how it’s done.”

How? His top-notch and honestly expensive negotiating program went hand-in-hand with his ability to read social queues and facts to manipulate the situation. And yet both failed.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Hank said. “Good old fashion intuition beats by the books academy training any day.” 

It was situations like this that reminded him the lieutenant was an impressive detective in his prime. “Does that mean I can cut down on my late days?”

Hank snorted. “Not a chance.”

They watched a few more minutes of the dead-end interrogation and Connor latched onto a nearby server to tune into the new episode of Star Trek. After a viewing party consisting only of Tina and Diane Person, Connor rapidly realized watching shows was vastly different than reading the synopsis.

Gavin stormed into the room and Connor reluctantly paused.

“Keep up the great work,” Hank said.

“Fuck off,” Gavin growled. “I’m letting him stew.”

Connor glanced at the bored suspect and happened to catch Hank’s eyeroll. Though he and the lieutenant were not close enough to share a significant look, they did share mutual exasperation.

“It appears you’re the one stewing, Detective,” Connor said.

Gavin punched the wall and Hank laughed then looked surprised at the sound. He quickly recovered. “Kid isn’t wrong.”

“Fuck off both of you. I don’t need your input,” Gavin spat. His glare narrowed as Connor opened his mouth. “Shut up.”

Connor examined Terrance, skimming Gavin’s case file and running Terrance’s information through public databases. Not much associated with the case, but the search led to several soft spots. “Your interrogation tactic isn’t working.”

“I _said_ shut up.”

“So let me try,” Connor said. “At the very least a change of pace will put him off-kilter.”

Gavin continued to glare.

Connor considered. “And if I fail, think of all the gloating.”

* * *

Terrance sighed when Connor entered the room. “You can’t keep me here on bogus charges.”

“Of course not, sir.” Connor smiled and offered a hand. Terrance shook it out of habit if nothing else. “Hello, I’m Connor, a detective with the Detroit Police Department.”

* * *

Hank gaped as Connor proceeded to play Terrance like a fiddle, at some point bring up an ongoing custody battle Hank didn’t remember reading in the file, but Gavin didn’t react besides to scowl more intensely as Terrance spewed his guts to Connor.

“Tough nut to crack, ain’t it?”

Gavin grumbled incoherently.

* * *

“Hank, your partner is going to get killed,” Ben said.

“Cause of death Gavin?” Hank asked, not looking up from his desk. Fucking reports were always tedious to write. It grated how Connor could apparently shoot them out in his sleep. “I’ll pin it on him after the fact. Vengeance and all that.”

“Not going to stop it now?” Ben asked, nodding to Gavin blustering and pushing into Connor’s space. His partner’s face didn’t waver. If anything, he looked resigned and slightly confused at Gavin’s rants. Connor was results-driven and seemed baffled when others focused on anything else, such as wounded pride. “Protective and all that.”

“Nah,” Hank said. “Builds character.”

As if Gavin would somehow succeed in intimidating someone, especially a fellow police officer. People with weak constitutions don’t get into this field. Everyone who joined was a little bit fucked. He fingered his flask. Some more than others.

The officers who would typically play interference to Gavin’s jabs were otherwise occupied. Chris and Wilson were on patrol, Tina left for the day, and Diane hadn’t left the evidence locker for fifteen minutes. Ben, for all his concerns, had long ago opted out of anything physically demanding and doing more than grumbling at Hank was the extent he would get involved.

Most other officers were willing to watch the show while pretending to work. Hank was too far away to hear Gavin’s attempts at intimidation and Connor’s logical tone that veered on condescending more often than not.

Gavin lunged—which yeah Hank anticipated, but the move was quicker than he could follow—but Connor blocked almost inhumanely fast, making Gavin swear and rub his hand. Apparently, Connor had military training? A useful thing in a partner especially considering some back alleys crime scenes forced them into.

The bullpen held its breath as Gavin pulled back his fist. Connor twisted away from his punches, tripping Gavin in a fluid motion that sent the other detective stumbling into the vending machine.

“You fucking shit!”

That, everyone could hear. Gavin was lucky the captain wasn’t in his office. He stalked towards Connor, growing cocking under the extra sets of eyes.

“Calm down,” Connor said as if that phrase was ever successful. “There’s no reason for this.”

“Oh, I’ll _show_ you the reason for this.” Gavin lashed out, face sneering at Connor’s easy dodges. The police officers stared, making no move to break it up, even a processed criminal gawked off to the side instead of being hauled to a holding cell.

Gavin shouted incoherently and feinted, which Connor sidestepped, but apparently now was when Gavin chose to strategize. He full-body tackled Connor, slamming him against the wall and immediately curling his fists into Connor’s shirt. His partner didn’t respond even though his body tensed like a gun ready to go off. In a signature move, Gavin leaned in to whisper aggressively.

“Alright break this shitshow up,” Hank yelled, pushing out of his seat. “Gavin, stop bitching because Connor cracked your guy when you couldn’t. Now let go of him or do you want to sit through another bullshit HR meeting?”

Gavin didn’t move, but Connor’s eyes flickered between Hank and his captor.

Hank crossed his arms. “Do we need to make this official?”

“What? Doing your job now?” Gavin scoffed.

“I don’t know. Am I?”

There was a moment Hank thought Gavin would test him. A moment where his instincts made him twitch for his gun. Which of the two had less to lose to get into this fight, he mused. Then Gavin shoved Connor, glaring when he didn’t buckle an inch.

“Whatever. Waste of time anyway,” Gavin said. “You’re both suited for each other.”

Gavin stormed off to brood and Hank turned back to his desk, the unmistakable sound of Connor shuffling after him. The bullpen continued business as normal, which either spoke volumes of Gavin’s temper or the DPD’s lack of professionalism as a whole.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Connor said. “I wasn’t sure how to best resolve that.”

“Didn’t do it for you,” Hank said.

Connor raised an eyebrow. “I disagree, but won’t debate about it.”

“ ‘Won’t debate about it,’ ” Hank mocked, plopping into his seat. “You will air your suspicions though, won’t you?”

Connor’s mouth twitched, shrugging then stopping himself halfway through, looking impossibly more awkward penguin-y. “You don’t have to engage with them.”

“Just ignore you, huh?” Hank asked.

Connor started playing with his coin. “Sure.”

“Connor, you alright?” Ben asked, not moving from his spot in front of Hank’s desk.

“Worried about him?” Hank asked. “You can tell by you doing absolutely nothing about it.”

“Set you loose, didn’t I?”

“I was moving anyway,” Hank said.

“Me being involved was entirely coincidental,” Connor said in that earnest way that meant he was teasing. Annoying shit. “But yes, I’m fine. Thank you, Ben.”

“Glad your partner looked out for you,” Ben said, strictly to be an ass.

Ugh. Hank chucked an old case file at him. Papers fluttered through the air as the file went wide. “Get to work or fuck off. Some of us have work to do.”

Ben held up his hands placatingly and stepped over the discarded papers.

Connor sighed when Hank made no move to grab said scattered papers. “Why do you insist on printing things out? The electronic files have the same information and are easier to access.” And are harder to throw at colleagues Connor didn’t say but it didn’t stop Hank from hearing it.

“I need things in my hands. I can visualize better than just reading it on a screen,” Hank said, “and they’re the best impromptu weapon.”

Connor clearly debated the merits of picking up the papers or leaving it for Hank to learn a lesson. As if Hank would be swayed by him. One of the office droids will trash the paper anyway. Might as well make them useful. “Are you going to pick that up?”

“Better question,” Hank said, ignoring his half-typed report. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“Krav Maga.”

“Really? Why?”

Connor turned away from the messy floor, tapping his computer monitor. “I needed a hobby.”

“Hell of a hobby.”

“Not all of us can drink ourselves to death,” Connor said. He then processed what he said and blanched. Hank kept his face neutral. Not that he cared but it didn’t hurt to psych the kid out. There was nothing Connor could say that he hadn’t heard dozens of times before. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t mean that.”

“You did.”

“I ah. Well.” Connor embodied anxiety. “I didn’t mean to vocalize that.”

Hank pursed his lips until Connor unconsciously fiddled with his damn coin and Hank realized he was his own worst enemy sometimes, but what was new? “Eh, it goes hand-in-hand with playing Russian Roulette.”

Connor’s brown eyes widened. “Are you joking or—”

“Let’s just do our work, yeah?” Hank interrupted.

Connor clamped his mouth shut and focused too intently on his computer screen. They eventually settled into a good rhythm of clacking keyboards and not talking that spread like a bubble as the other officers silently circled past their desks. While staring blankly at a court summons Hank was going to pass off to Wilson, his mind drifted to Connor’s interrogation. Something niggled at him that somehow outlasted his taunts to a pissed off Gavin.

“I don’t remember the file mentioning a custody battle.”

Connor noticeably paused, which was saying a lot since he wasn’t one to fidget. “What?”

Which was fair, but Hank slouched to the side to clearly see Connor past the computers. Interrogation 101: Always read their facial queues. “Gavin’s interrogation you finished. You mentioned the suspect’s custody battle and cooperating with the police going a long way while hindering an investigation went the other.”

“That’s true,” Connor said.

“It is, but how did you know about the custody battle?”

“It’s in the file,” Connor said, smoothly and nonchalantly. Hank’s paranoia rose.

“Not mine.”

“I guess you missed it,” Connor said. “It’s a throwaway sentence but it’s there. Halfway down the third page.”

Hank scoffed, pulling up Gavin’s grudgingly emailed case file. It took a minute of scanning but a concise sentence about the custody battle was indeed buried in a paragraph about Terrance’s background. “Your photographic memory is bullshit.”

“Bullshit that helps you, Lieutenant.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Connor’s attention to detail was invaluable sometimes. As was his almost encyclopedic knowledge of random shit. He raised his eyebrows as Connor stood and rolled his chair under the desk. “Heading out?”

“Are you really not going to pick that up?” Connor nodded at the papers that migrated as a collective hazard by their desks. This may also explain why most of the bullpen avoided walking past.

“Fuck no.”

His partner’s disappointed puppy dog eyes should’ve made his conscience twinge but luckily, he drank his conscience to sleep most days. “Have a good night.”

Hank waved, watching Connor leave. If you work after the workaholic, what does that make you? Nothing Hank wanted to be associated with now, that’s for certain.

A paper drifted over Hank’s foot as the AC kicked on. The papers spread tauntingly in front of him and he actually didn’t remember when the office androids cleaned the bullpen. Another paper shifted towards his feet. Ugh might as well. Fucking Connor. He grumbled and started yanking loose paper his way. At least the only person around to witness this was a self-absorbed Gavin.

Hank grudgingly neatened the loose paper—it actually didn’t take long to collect—when Gavin’s name caught his eye. Gavin’s red ice case. Probably should go into the shredder since he doubted Gavin would let them near that case again.

He thumbed to the third page without thought, skimming the paragraph for the custody battle blurb. He wasn’t fucking crazy, Connor’s freakish memory aside.

Would you look at that?

The reliable paper copy lay there, the exact same as the report on his screen minus the custody battle. He knew that fucking came out of nowhere during Connor’s interrogation. But how did Connor even get that information? It wasn’t like he had a chance to access anything on his work terminal before they were pulled into that interrogation room. Unless… He pulled up the email to see when it was saved.

“Reed, did you give me old case notes?”

Gavin turned his chair aggressively. “The fuck? I don’t ever want your ‘consultation’ but I don’t want you going in blind and screwing things up.” He squinted. “Why?”

“My paper copy is off.”

Gavin scoffed. “Is that all? Your old ass printed it too soon then. It not my fault you refuse to work digitally. Most up to date shit will be on your computer.”

“I don’t refuse to work digital—”

“Fucking old bitch. Why do we even have printers anyway? Waste of…”

Hank rolled his eyes, twisting his chair as Gavin kept ranting. Why did he ever bother getting Gavin involved with anything? He drummed his fingers over the Terrance case notes. Why would Gavin add a single sentence to a report?

“…will only accept faxes? Like thanks so much. I guess I can finally retire my carrier pigeon.”

But why does Gavin do anything? Hank sighed. What the fuck ever. He needed a drink anyway. He pushed away from his desk, crossing paths with a confused Chris frowning at a still furiously ranting Gavin.

* * *

The entire bullpen gawked as Hank rolled in on time. Well, on time for him. It was a little before 9 but earlier than his usual trend and definitely earlier than his slacker of a partner. If Hank knew Connor at all, he’d get his tardy days over with as soon as possible and anxiously show up exactly at 10.

He fiddled around his desk, bored honestly. This was why he avoided working full days. The little work he half-heartedly completed slowed the closer he got to Connor’s arrival time. He stared as the clock changed to 10 and Connor darted through the door. Predictable. Hank grinned when Connor froze at the sight of him.

“About time you showed up, Connor,” Hank said, deliberately raising his voice and drawing reflexive gazes. Tina immediately snickered. “I was about to send out a search party.”

Connor defaulted to his annoyingly stiff and professional stance. Though seeing irritation simmer in Connor’s glare made his early morning worth it. Mirth rose and a chuckle burst out as Connor logged in without his normal greeting. Good fucking start to a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hacking Connor vs Printed Copies... the most epic of showdowns
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy :)

Connor fidgeted in Hank’s driveway, the automatic taxi disappearing around the corner. He couldn’t remember how Tina convinced him to do this.

Per Fowler, who grudgingly organized the outing, all the off-duty officers were required to participate in a team bonding laser tag competition. Likely the almost altercation between himself and Gavin had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Even though Connor never submitted a report, cameras hid in every corner of the department and it wouldn’t take much snooping to locate the incident. Officers had to trust each other with their lives. With some of the officer’s more…interesting disciplinary records and behavioral issues, the concern that hostility and grudges may interfere in their line of duty was reasonable.

Plus, Connor did minor digital digging (not hacking because hacking his boss’s email was inappropriate) and apparently the choices were either this or an HR-led seminar so shooting infrared-emitting light guns at officers was the lesser of the two evils. His firearm proficiency should aid him though he never gained enjoyment from shooting guns so he was skeptical on how enjoyable this activity would be despite Tina and Chris’s enthusiasm.

All the laser tag teams were predetermined, either to stop arguments over assignments or based on who was more likely to work together. All Connor cared about initially was he and Gavin were on opposing teams. Then he rapidly cared about Tina also being on his team because she treated this laser tag outing with a seriousness he rarely saw during their actual job and declared herself team captain. Diane didn’t care. Hank, like most aspects of his job, had strong opinions but likely wouldn’t show up. The handful of other officers—Bri, Peter, and Robert—were unable to fight Tina’s sheer intensity.

Which led to his current predicament. Connor scuffed his shoe against the pavement. Hank’s house stood, lit up and imposing.

* * *

“Connor, babes,” Tina said. The detective watched her dubiously as he continued to avoid the shared, motivational fry platter she slammed on the table. Connor wasn’t a snacker, deprived thing. The rest of her team, cordoned away from the other officers in a side booth as per obvious intimidation tactics, watched with varying levels of interest. “You’re the best bet at getting Hank to show.”

“The event doesn’t start for another hour,” Connor said, honestly adorable in his nerdy Star Trek shirt and flannel she forced on him after he confessed during his first week he lost most of his clothes during the move. As a fan of spending other people’s money, she tagged along to dictate what he should buy. He listened to her about half the time. “He could still show.”

“But we need to _guarantee_ he’ll show,” Tina said.

“We can compete without Hank,” Connor said, using his placating cop voice. “Some would argue that he’d drag us down.”

Not the point. “It’s a numbers game. We need more warm bodies or else the other teams will turn on us. We need a formidable front. No weakness!”

“You know what else will make the other teams turn on us?” Connor asked. “Someone openly antagonistic.”

“You mean like Tina?” Diane asked, downing her fourth beer and leaning on Connor. Alright, officially too late to limit everyone’s drinks, but not too late to sabotage and send excessive drinks to the other teams. Noted even if her wallet already protested.

“Is it openly antagonistic if we win?” Tina asked.

Diane attempted a dry look but wasn’t sober enough to pull it off. “You handed everyone your trash schedule so they knew ‘when sit on the curb.’ ”

“True, hilarious, and had props,” Tina said. “No regrets.”

“Every time you made eye contact with someone this week, you said you were trying to figure out who’d come in second.”

“Again, true and hilarious.”

“You told Chris you’d fuck his grandma if we lost,” Diane said. “Not openly antagonistic, I guess? But honestly what the fuck?”

“Ok, out of context—”

“Tina’s antics aside, Hank won’t help,” Connor said. “He’ll only make the team’s target bigger.”

“If we’re the target,” Tina said, “then think how much more epic we’ll be when we win.”

“By that logic, think how much more impressive it’d be if we won short a person,” Connor said.

Her face grew serious and she leaned closer to Connor. “Listen, my dude. I talk a lot of shit but if we don’t at least take second place, I’m taking all of next week off.”

Connor frowned with his impressive puppy dog eyes. “That seems dra—”

“Hank isn’t the best team member, I’ve made peace with that, but the bitch can shoot and that’s all I need,” Tina said. “If anything, he’ll act as a bait and take down a couple while the rest of us demolish the competition.”

He hesitated and Tina did her best to send intense friendship vibes to Connor. Nothing crumbled his walls faster than friendship and warm, fuzzy feelings. As if Tina wouldn’t blatantly manipulate when bragging rights were on the line. Besides, Connor and Hank’s relationship was way better than it was at the beginning—not that the bar was too high. Connor could probably show up to Hank’s house unannounced and come back intact plus one lieutenant.

“I’ll call him again,” Connor said, “but we don’t need to get him. Look, Gavin isn’t here either. So really it won’t hurt our chances.”

Diane snorted into her burger. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Connor turned slowly and Tina groaned. Sure enough, Gavin slammed open the diner door with way too much force, scowl and a thick 5 o’clock shadow in place. That bitch.

“You’re not sexy,” Tina shouted. Gavin raised a middle finger which she ignored while Connor stared at his phone betrayed that it once again didn’t connect to Hank. Tina pointed as Gavin’s team greeted him with obnoxious jeers. “See? We’re the only team short right now.” She widened her eyes. Friendship, friendship, friendship. “Please, Connor? Be a bro.”

His resolve crumbled. Beautiful. “Fine.”

“To Detective Mason.” Tina saluted with a margarita pitcher. “Braver than any U.S. marine.”

He sent Diane a pleading look but she looked too amused. She raised her new beer. “Braver than any U.S. marine.”

“Right, I’ll be back,” Connor said, already defeated.

“You got this, just think of it like a case? Maybe a fun recruitment mission?” Tina tried. Connor nodded absently, waving before he trudged through the crowd like he was heading towards the firing squad. “You don’t think Hank will hurt him, like, emotionally, do you?”

“Bit late for that,” Diane mumbled through food. “Plus, puppy dog eyes. He’ll be fine.”

“True, even Hank has a withered heart in there somewhere.” Tina lugged her duffle bag and slammed it on the table. “Now, time to stall.”

* * *

Alright, he was a state-of-the-art android built to withstand the most extreme criminal investigations and take down potentially violent deviant androids. He can knock on the door. He took a step forward.

A failed state-of-the-art android.

Another step.

A prototype who so obviously deviated on that rooftop that Cyberlife immediately shut him down and dismantled him and all other deactivated RK800s.

Another step.

The fact he woke up at all in the junkyard was astonishing. A miracle. The rest of the RK800s—his brothers? No chance at life either way—were so thoroughly decimated it was nearly impossible for Connor to scavenge enough parts to repair himself.

Another step.

But Connor was finally awake and making his own decisions. No prompts from his handlers, no internal system directions forcing his limbs to move through different objectives. At first daunting, but now he couldn’t imagine reverting back to the blankness of a machine.

He reached the porch.

He could do this. Cyberlife, his creator, couldn’t dictate his actions anymore. He refused to let the looming threat of Hank’s rage dictate his actions either. Connor _chose_ to help Tina, who he _chose_ to befriend. He’ll knock on the door.

The door stared back blankly.

Right, ok.

He knocked timidly.

No response except an excited bark that subsided after 12 seconds. That was anticlimactic. Connor pressed the doorbell for several long seconds. “Lieutenant?”

A short woof was the only response. He shoved his coin back into his pocket, belatedly realizing he twirled it absently between his fingers. If the lights were any indication, Hank was home. Worry twinging his circuits, he peeked through the nearby window.

_Stress level 69%_

Hank lay prone on the ground. Panic jolted through him—an emotion he hadn’t dealt with before—Hank’s offhanded remark about Russian Roulette replayed in his head.

_Stress level 88%_

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Hank needed him. Combusting wouldn’t resolve anything. He scanned the front door and lifted the welcome mat and a nearby dead flower pot. No key. He quickly stepped over the side of the porch, stress level no longer spiking but his breathing exercises weren’t as effective as calculated. He shook his head, making his way towards the back and checking the irritatingly, securely latched windows. Neighbors, if any were watching, should be suspicious and contact the police, which would actually be helpful if Hank needed medical attention, but unhelpful since the responders would be his co-workers and this house call would jump to the top of the water cooler gossip.

Connor hopped the wooden fence, unsurprised but frustrated by the locked backdoor. He peered inside, closer to the kitchen and Hank’s unconscious form.

Sometimes the more direct approach was best. He elbowed Hank’s window, relieved Tina bullied him into buying a leather jacket. The glass shattered, some shards sliding harmlessly off the leather and others clattered against the tile floor. He heaved himself through and rolled into the kitchen.

A giant blur of fur had Connor springing into a defensive crouch, preconstructions already forming. He blinked them away as he focused on the beast of the dog huffing in front of him.

“Sumo? I’m a friend of Hank’s. I’m here to help.” The dog continued to stare and Connor reviewed some dog clips online. “Who’s a good boy? Are you a good boy, Sumo?”

The Saint Bernard gave Connor a decisive lick and lumbered towards his food bowl. Connor darted over to Hank, methodically searching for a pulse. His processors indicated Hank was breathing but Connor really needed extra reassurance that Hank was living. A relieved sigh ripped from him when he finally located that steady beat. His stress levels lowered as he scanned the kitchen, noting the half-empty bottle and gun with a grimace.

“Lieutenant? Hank? Can you hear me?” Connor hesitantly shook Hank’s shoulder.

No response besides an incoherent grumble. More than he expected all things considered.

“Hank, I’m going to move you.” Connor scooped him up bridal style. Not ideal, but deadweight was easy enough to maneuver to a bed. Luckily, the house had a simple layout so the path to the bedroom was obvious. Unluckily, as soon as Hank left solid ground, he flailed and only inhumane android strength kept his partner from falling to the ground.

“What the fuck…?” Hank squirmed in Connor’s arms. “Sumo! Attack!”

Sumo barked and continued eating.

“Good boy.”

He tightened his grip on the lieutenant. “It’s me, Connor. I’m here to help.”

“Connor?” Hank blinked blearily, finally stopping his halfhearted thrashing. “The fuck you doing here?”

“Laser tag.” Connor kicked open the bathroom door. Since Hank refused to stay unconscious so Connor could abandon him in a bed and strategically flee, might as well stick him by a toilet. “Then I saw you on the floor.”

“Laser tag,” Hank mumbled. “Shit, Connor. Me not showing won’t ruin your perfect record. Just fucking leave.”

“I’m putting you down now.” Hank grumbled, suddenly grasping he was literally in Connor’s arms as the android sat him down gently as possible on the cold tile.

Hank groaned, clutching the toilet. “Fucking off now?”

Connor weighed the effectiveness of stashing Hank’s gun but deemed it overall pointless since Hank could likely get a replacement within the hour. Then Hank would be pissed at Connor on top of everything else. Not the best combo to leave him in. “Nope.”

“I’m not going to the team bonding bullshit.” Hank attempted to glare, but the effect was ruined by him turning green and hurling into a toilet.

“Not the top of my class, but I did gather that,” Connor said dryly.

“Figured you’d force your way to the top through sheer brownnosing.”

Connor rolled his eyes, crouching next to Hank. The police academy was primarily recalling facts and performing obstacles with textbook accuracy. Any android could be top of the class. “I’m taking you to your bed once you’re done.”

“Of course, you’d be the no dinner, straight to bed type. No romancing because that requires creativity and spontaneity.” He wheezed, turning to squint at Connor. He immediately groaned. “Fuck I’m not seeing right. Or do you have blue shit on your face?”

_Stress level 78%_

Connor darted away from Hank and looked in the mirror. A small cut on his cheek shined a bright, wet blue. Small enough his sensors didn’t flicker a warning but large enough a little thirium congealed and dripped down his face.

_Stress level 91%_

Connor wrenched on the water and frantically started rubbing his cheek. Shit, shit, shit. Hank saw blue blood on his face. Only the fact he was drunk out of his mind kept him from putting two and two together. Some insignificant piece of glass from the window cut his face, smearing undeniable evidence of his origin on his face and he didn’t even notice. This cut was minor yet threatened to ruin everything.

With every wipe, new blue blood appeared. Why couldn’t it stop? He needed it to stop.

“Bandages are in the medicine cabinet.”

Connor jumped and Hank blinked from the toilet as if trying to sober up. Not a productive item at the moment.

“You good, Connor?”

His thirium pump hammered, undoubtedly making the leak worse, but he couldn’t slow it. Theoretically, he should easily control every individual piece of his body but nothing he attempted had any noticeable effect.

“Yep.” He yanked open the medicine cabinet and grabbed the box of band-aids. It was a small cut but thirium shouldn’t soak through the band-aid. Androids didn’t use bandages as damaged property didn’t require them and who knows if deviants used them as Connor was the only living deviant he knew. Maybe if other deviants played at being human like Connor? Though it reasoned most deviants would get away from humans instead of participating in this anxiety-inducing game. And here Connor chose to stick by humans who were experts at finding clues and piecing them together.

“You don’t seem okay,” Hank said. “I’m drunk, not a fucking idiot.”

Connor closed the medicine cabinet, dabbing his cheek one more time then placing on the band-aid. He studied his reflection in the mirror. The bandage easily covered the scratch and should help the thirium congeal until his healing program repaired it. He let out a breath.

_Stress level 68%_

Minor overreaction but time to move past it.

“Don’t worry about it, Hank. Just some ink from a pen then I realized I was cut,” Connor said. “You still want me to fuck off?”

Hank pushed himself away from the toilet, nearly toppling hard on the floor. Connor quickly steadied him, helping Hank more gently sit on the floor. “Of course, you swear when no one else is around to witness it.”

“Planned on purpose,” Connor agreed. He glanced at the counter and fought to keep his face neutral.

_Stress level 83%_

Blue blood smeared on the sink and stained tissues scattered carelessly across the counter. It was obvious even from Hank’s vantage point if only he turned his head. Connor removed his hands, letting his partner hunch over pathetically, and forced himself to calmly walk to the counter. Sudden movements would draw scrutiny he could not afford, even from his drunk partner. He nimbly grabbed the incriminating tissues, stuffing them into his jean pocket and turned on the sink to wash away the blue stains. Slowly, the counter return to the original grimy yellow.

Hank cracked open a suspicious eye and Connor forced his stiff posture to slouch.

He had to check the kitchen. Dried thirium left no trace but it would take at least an hour to get to that point. He had to clean up any evidence.

“I’ll get you a cup for some water,” Connor said. “Maybe you should take a cold shower.”

Hank scoffed. “Yeah right.”

But he made no move to leave his position on the floor so Connor fled with no comment. He strode down the hallway, patting Sumo absently when the Saint Bernard wandered up. The kitchen remained in the same sorry state he left it, the busted window adding to the chaos of the tipped chair, discarded gun, and bottle of booze.

He scanned the kitchen, prioritizing all alerts to thirium detection. His processors were able to examine and dissect an entire room in a millisecond, but Connor found himself changing positions and rescanning to ensure the lack of thirium wasn’t a fluke. Yet no thirium presented itself. Not on the glass scattered on the floor, not the jagged edges of the window… He eyed the table, picking up the random takeout boxes in case an errant shard of thirium-stained glass flew on the table, statistically likely based on the window’s position and Connor’s trajectory when he entered.

He flipped over a turned picture frame unthinkingly. Now, he froze at the picture of a smiling boy, unexpectedly joyful in the dingy kitchen. Information came up reflexively. Cole Anderson’s name, date of birth, date of death…

The picture frame quickly found itself back on the table, safely facedown. Hank’s spiral was a habit that Connor never speculated the cause of, but Cole’s date of death correlated with the sharp increase of Hank’s disciplinary file. He didn’t quite know how to parse through his emotional response to that.

“The fuck you do to my house?”

Connor started, straightening the fallen chair. Typically, his proximity alert prevented any human from catching him on unawares, yet this was the second time the lieutenant alarmed him. “Sorry, I was worried you were… I’ll pay for the window.”

“ _I’m_ not going to,” Hank said, leaning heavily against the wall in his sweaty navy shirt. Hank looked miserable but sober. “I’ll send you the bill.”

Connor awkwardly grabbed a broom, luckily located during his initial scan, and swept up the broken glass. As expected, his partner stayed where he leaned against the wall, studying Connor with an intensity that made him subtly check his own clothes for telling stains. He scooped up the bottle and paused at the gun.

“Playing Russian Roulette?” Connor asked.

Hank shrugged, aggressively nonchalant. “Wanted to see how long I’d last.”

Connor spun the barrel and checked the gun. “You’re lucky. The next shot would’ve killed you.”

Hank’s face remained unreadable. Even top-notch social protocols faltered in this situation. Connor refrained from fiddling with his coin even though his nerves desperately needed it. What was the social etiquette of when to leave after breaking into your partner’s house, nearly revealing yourself as an android, and accidentally snooping on more private information than intended?

“Well let’s go to that dumb laser tag tournament,” Hank said.

“What?” Connor asked even as he replayed Hank’s last question to ensure his auditory system didn’t fail. His internal clock alerted him that they were already 36 minutes late. He also now registered Tina’s increasingly frantic texts and Chris checking on him.

Hank looked pleased to catch him off guard. “That’s the entire reason you came, right?”

“Technically,” Connor said, “but after everything, I assumed you’d stay here.” And he would go to his small closet of an apartment and not venture into public until his scrape healed.

“Yeah, yeah me on the floor and you with a papercut,” Hank dismissed. There goes hoping Hank would forget about Connor’s uncharacteristic panic. “Or pen cut if that’s a thing? The point is I’m alert now, no thanks to you, so it’s either laser tag or hand me that bottle.”

Connor narrowed his eyes, not appreciating and honestly not understanding Hank’s manipulation since anything work-sanctioned Hank fought to avoid. Even with Connor’s reluctance typically being a huge motivator for Hank, this shift was unexpected. Hank smirked at Connor’s frown. Annoyingly, he couldn’t find a plausible reason to deny Hank as his motivations remained unclear. Humans, but specifically his partner, were irrational.

“You’re changing first,” Connor said, sending a quick text to Tina, “and I’m driving.”

“Don’t break anything else,” Hank warned.

Connor studiously gathered the takeout boxes to stuff in the fridge to avoid eye contact and the urge to flush. “Yes, Hank.”

“Sumo, keep an eye on him.” The dog wagged his tail as his owner stumbled down the hallway.

* * *

When they showed up officially an hour late, the entire DPD danced or cheered to a karaoke machine hooked up in the corner of the diner. Not what he expected the diner to have but the worker androids continued as normal and the other patrons seemed unbothered. Karaoke wasn’t the sanctioned event but Fowler lounged back, content at the overall good mood, and even Gavin whistled at Bri’s performance.

“Ah ha!” Tina shouted, pointing triumphantly at Hank and Connor and drawing too many eyes for comfort. “Distraction complete. Let’s fucking battle, bitches!”

Needless to say, every team targeted them and they were out in record time.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are love


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